Running Again
by Katya Scriptari
Summary: -REPOSTED!- "He's running again. I'm watching him. Every day, he runs..."A certain CEO watches a scene unfold outside his window...a scene that re-occurs every day.


Running Again

**Yes, this is also being reposted. There are only two chapters for this, however, and it's going to stay that way. Because yours truly can't think of any more POVs to do that would be relevant to the subject at hand. LOL. So, once again, enjoy, and please review! Thanks to all who reviewed this when I was still KaTyA!**

Me: Heyla! Well, not much of an intro this time…

This is actually a one-shot, a little thing I'm submitting to a fanfiction contest. Pray for me, all you lovely readers out there!

Well, this is Seto...Seto and his musings on a certain someone.

Very angsty. Enjoy!

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He's running again.

Sprinting, hurrying, feet pounding the ground in time with his gasps for air, he's running with all the speed he can muster. For someone his size, it's not bad.

I'm watching him. Watching him from my office window, watching the huge teen in hot pursuit.

Sometimes I wonder why he bothers. He always runs out of air, runs out of strength.

He always gets caught in the end.

The bully's gaining on him. I can see the smirk on his face.

Maybe it's a thread of hope that he has...a thread of hope that THIS time he'll make it, that THIS time they won't get him.

It never happens.

I'm watching him still. He's getting dragged into a dark alleyway. 

It's not like this is the first time, or even the second. No, this is what I observe every day. He runs. He gets caught. He gets hurt. It never ends. 

I wonder why he puts up with it all. 

It's not like he has anything to stick around for. 

He's not recognized. He's not important. He's not noticed very often.

We can all thank *him* for that. 

Him. 

I'd love to strangle him. He's so arrogant, so damn confident. Girls swoon when they see that confident smirk. He gets all the attention, and by God, he loves it.

He loves it. And he doesn't care about the boy in the alley.

I'm hearing that voice in my head again. The voice I heard on top of the tower when I dueled him.

_"Why didn't you help him, Seto? Why?"_

He's my rival.

Jonouchi found him one day. I was surprised that he had the brains to glance in his direction. 

He'd seen me watching. And he yelled at me when I came out to see how he was.

"Why didn't you do anything?!"

And the boy in his arms – hurt, bruised, and bloodied and half-conscious – he said the oddest thing.

"I don't expect him to."

He never expects anyone to help him. He just takes what he gets, under the assumption that he deserves it.

He knows that I watch him.

He knows that I see him get pounded into the ground every day.

It's a game for them. They love tasting his fear, love seeing him curl up into a ball in an attempt to shield himself from the merciless blows.

I see them in the halls. They plan it all out. Exactly what they're going to do that day.

It's a game for them. They want to see him break.

But he keeps going. He keeps up that bright smile, even though he's aware that I can see how fake it is. Even though no one cares, anyway. He keeps coming to school with a neat uniform, his jacket nicely buttoned.

He never takes it off.

Sometimes I look at him and I wonder what his arms look like. It's a wonder neither of them have broken.

It never ends.

Ever.

I watch him every day. In my office.

Safe.

Protected by glass and three floors below me.

The bully's leaving now. Satisfied. Leaving his prey in a bloodied, bruised heap on the ground.

Round one complete.

I see the next one, coming up the street, preparing for round two.

I think that there are three or four rounds in their game.

It never fails.

He's getting up. Struggling to his feet slowly, swaying almost drunkenly as he stumbles back out into the blinding light. The bruises and cuts become blatantly obvious. I don't think he can see out of his right eye.

He's looking behind him. He knows what's coming.

He's running again.

And I'm watching him.

Again.

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Very angsty, ne? I hope you liked it. No flames, please.


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